And the Librarian's Guide to A Well-Executed Date Night
by The Black Sun's Daughter
Summary: Flirting? Check. Courting? Check. First kiss? A very well done check. Actually having a normal night together without the interference of magic, missions, and monsters? Still working on that one. Ezekiel doesn't know why he's nervous. Can't be that hard to make a simple dinner, right? Wrong. Very wrong.


Ezekiel was nervous.

He didn't like being nervous, because nervous meant things were very much in danger of _not_ going the way he wanted them too. Which was never a good thing. But nervous he was. Not like the time he'd ended up on the wrong side of a Sterenko without a backup plan. Oh, no, this was worse than that, because Jake was coming to dinner at his flat. That in and of itself wasn't so scary. Well, okay, it was a _little_. He'd never done the whole regular-dating thing before, and whilst he knew how it worked _theoretically,_ he was a Librarian. Being a Librarian automatically tipped the scales in favour of misfortune coming along to kick 'theoretically' in the bollocks. And then go through its pockets and steal its wallet. And more than that, Jake had asked him to cook.

Okay, not specifically demanded that Ezekiel make dinner. Jake wouldn't do that. He would've been perfectly content with a container of leftover Chinese, but maybe, just maybe, Ezekiel wanted to impress him, too. Actually, the cowboy had asked if Ezekiel _did_ cook, to which he replied a resounding 'no.' Ezekiel Jones did not cook. He did not belong in the kitchen. He should not be anywhere near food during preparation. Not in the sense that he didn't like or want to cook, more in the sense of he may end up accidentally killing somebody someday. He thought about that one time he had tried to make a package of stovetop pasta when he was fifteen and ended up setting fire to his kitchen. Or the incident with the camp stove and the Top Ramen. Or the one with the blowtorch and the turkey on Thanksgiving. Yeah, no, made for a kitchen, he was not.

But Jake had asked about it, Ezekiel had warned him, and the other man had laughed and told him to bring it on, nothing could be worse than his sister's shepherd pie.

Ezekiel would have preferred _not_ to poison his (boyfriend? Lover? Coworker with benefits?) cowboy, but Jake had thrown down the gauntlet, so...

He eyed the plates set on the table dubiously. He hadn't set fire to anything this time, but he was fairly certain that greens weren't supposed to look like that. Or maybe they were. He wasn't certain what greens looked like when properly made. And the whole term 'greens' was fairly broad, wasn't it? Fuck, he was going to end up poisoning Jake, he knew it. There were poisonous greens, right?

At least he didn't have to worry about cleaning up. He'd only moved back to this flat the week before, and he liked keeping things orderly, made for a cleaner departure. Ezekiel was debating whether or not to pitch the whole mess in the disposal and call in for some takeaway when there was a knock on the door; swearing softly, he looked at his watch. Six on the dot. Cowboy was definitely getting his punctuality badge. _Too late now._ Taking a deep breath, he went to answer the door.

Jake was bundled up against the chill, standing with his hands shoved in his pockets. It wasn't _that_ cold, really, but he was born and bred Southern. He was not designed for cold weather. Ezekiel didn't mind; Jake looked cute in all his layers (though he looked better with them off) and there was nothing more glorious than the cowboy's hat-hair once he took off the beanie. "What's the password?" Ezekiel asked, holding the door open but not stepping aside.

"It's 'let me in before I shove my foot up your ass,'" Jake replied, a glint of humour in his eyes.

Ezekiel scoffed. "Nice try. It's 'Ezekiel Jones is the greatest thief in the world,' but I guess I can still let you in."

The historian rolled his eyes and gave him a helpful shove inside, shedding his layers until he was down to his usual Henley and flannel shirt, pulling his hat off last; Ezekiel stood on his toes so he could run both hands through the hat-hair. Jake laughed as he kissed the underside of Ezekiel's jaw. "You with the hair. I swear, it's some kind of fetish with you."

Ezekiel rolled his eyes right back and tugged on the hair in question. "Well, it's not often I see such an impressive thatch of bear fur so available for petting, so..."

"Uh-huh. What would you do if I told you that I had once grown it out to my shoulders?"

Beg pardon? Ezekiel dropped his hands to Jake's shoulders and stared him in the eye. "Don't tease me, Stone. I _will_ find photographic evidence of this."

"Needn't look further than a family photo album."

Oh, Ezekiel _so_ knew what he was doing with his next day off.

As he was mentally planning a little jaunt to Oklahoma, Jake stepped back and glanced around him towards the table. "Is that dinner?" he asked, sounding both hopeful and a little wary.

Ezekiel swallowed hard. "Yep, that's it. Dinner."

Something in his tone must've given away just how sceptical he was of his own cooking because Jake looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "What is it?" he asked, more wary this time.

"Greens."

Both eyebrows went up. "Uhm...you do know that greens is a _side_ and not a main course, right? Unless it's a salad or something, and...I don't think salad looks like that."

Ezekiel shrugged a little. "I told you I suck at cooking, mate."

"Is there anything in it _besides_ greens?"

"Sure. Lots of stuff."

"Such as?"

Ezekiel offered him a weak grin. "It's a surprise?"

Jake eyed the plates uncertainly for another moment, then sighed and said, "Pick up your damn fork, Jones. We're gonna do this together."

They walked over to the table and sat down. It didn't look any better up close. Jake picked up his fork and prodded at the maybe-food-maybe-poisonous-plant a little, and Ezekiel heard him mumble, "Greens?" under his breath. Ezekiel didn't comment and took his own utensil in hand. Finally, the other man decided to bite the bullet and take a bite of the potential biohazard. Jake made a curious noise in his throat and coughed a little, bringing one hand up to his mouth. Ezekiel would've laughed at the face he made, but he was currently trying not to retch, too, because he had taken his own bite and oh, God, he was a horrible person for doing this. He unfolded his napkin and spat into it. "Jesus H. _Christ,_ Jonesy," the historian coughed once he could speak again. "The fuck did you do, put battery acid in it?"

"Only for colour," he replied. "I told you."

"I know that, but...Jesus. That shit could kill a _dragon."_

He was tempted to ask if he had beaten the infamous shepherd pie, but decided against it. "Little Ness eats it," Ezekiel offered instead.

Jake shot him a glare. "Little Ness ate a pair of my Nikes yesterday. The ones I had worn on a New York City subway. Forgive me if I don't trust her sense of taste."

"Yeah, I know. I've never been able to cook anything. I burnt water once, trying to make pasta. Figured I'd give it another go, though." Ezekiel stood up and took the plates into the kitchen, setting them on the counter; he'd take it to the Library tomorrow. Little Ness would appreciate him for it, at any rate. "However, like any good thief, I have a contingency plan in place." He took said contingency plan and walked back to the table with them, setting one half in front of Jake.

"Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? What are we, 12?" the historian asked, a chuckle lacing his voice to take any real heat out of the jab.

"Yes, we are. Or, I am anyways. And after this, I'm going to pull your hair and call you stupid, and that's how you'll know I like you."

"Nice." Jake picked up his sandwich and took a bite as Ezekiel did the same, then looked down at the sandwich in bemused dismay. "Jones."

He didn't look away from his own sandwich. "Yeah, mate?"

"This is just peanut butter. There's no jelly on this."

Ezekiel bit the inside of his mouth. "I know. Mine's just jelly, too. I'm not good with proportions, and I didn't have a measuring cup, didn't trust myself. Besides, you're a better cook than I'll ever be, so I figured you might—" He cut off midsentence as Jake sat forward and caught him by the shirt collar, tugging him into a kiss.

When they broke apart, Jake didn't sit back or let go of Ezekiel's shirt, his fingers brushing lightly against the side of the thief's neck. "You're shameless, you know that?" he asked, voice pitched low, slightly rough, and didn't sound like he minded that at all.

Ezekiel smirked a little. "Obviously." Aware of the historian's eyes on him, he ran his tongue across his lips and was rewarded with a little growl. "And I was right, too. You're a way better cook than me."

"Smartass."

"Better than a dumb-arse."

Shameless smartassery aside, Jake finished his sandwich, occasionally leaning over the table to kiss him again, which Ezekiel definitely did _not_ mind at all and made a mental note to try this again sometime. Maybe in a situation with fewer clothes. "You still hungry?" he asked, and Ezekiel nodded truthfully. It'd only been half a sandwich, after all. "Alright, c'mon, punk-ass, let's see what we've got to work with."

Ezekiel followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the side of the fridge as Jake looked into the cupboards, muttering under his breath. The place _was_ pretty bare, but that was because he hadn't been in this one for a while. He rotated through his various bolt-holes as needed, and this one hadn't been needed for a while. He mostly lived on carry-out and sandwiches anyways, so there wouldn't likely ever be much in the pantry. After scouring the fridge, also mostly empty, Jake made a victorious noise and came up with mayo and cheese. "Grilled cheese it is," he announced, kicking the fridge shut.

"Where'd you learn to cook anyways? I thought cowboys lived off pork and beans," Ezekiel mused, coming around to sit on an empty stretch of counter as Jake arranged the bread and cheese in a pan on the stove.

"Pretty funny, coming from a guy who just served me a peanut butter sandwich," Jake replied and swatted him on the thigh with the spatula. "My mama would let me help in the kitchen when I was younger, and after she died...well, you saw the old man. He prefers a liquid diet. I had to learn how to make something for me and my sisters. Also figured out how to fix a vacuum cleaner, do laundry without turning all the whites into tie-dye, and use a sewing machine."

Ezekiel grinned at the thought of a young, gangly teenage boy trying to figure out a sewing machine. "Regular domestic goddess, aren't you? Maybe I ought to get you a frilly apron and a string of pearls." He reached out and dragged a fingertip feather-light over the back of Jake's neck, right where he was ticklish.

The historian hunched his shoulders and squirmed aside. "Quit that, or I'll burn your grilled cheese," he threatened only half-heartedly. He turned the sandwiches over, then glanced down at the abandoned plates holding the sad, abandoned attempt at dinner. "What _is_ that anyways?"

"Honestly? No idea. I think these were meant to be some kind of greens," the thief replied cheerfully.

Jake snorted. "I dunno what you did to 'em, but they kinda look like Audrey II."

"A what?"

"Audrey II. Y'know, the plant thing, from _Little Shop of Horrors,_ the little one." At the blank look Ezekiel gave him, Jake asked in a pained voice, "You've never seen it? Aw, come _on,_ Jonesy, I thought you liked old movies."

"Not _all_."

Switching off the stove, Jake shook his head and transferred the sandwiches onto a single plate. "Alright, let's go. You're getting educated tonight, punk-ass," he muttered, grabbing Ezekiel by the elbow and escorting him into the living room. After demanding Ezekiel turn on Netflix, he shanghaied the remote and brought up the film, all the while shaking his head and muttering.

Ezekiel watched him with amusement, folding his legs under him and picking up one of the warm sandwiches from the plate. Oh, bugger, that was good. Who knew that bread, mayo, and cheese could be utilized in such a way? As the film began playing, he frowned and protested past a mouthful of melting cheese, "Is this a musical? Oi, you never said it was a musical."

Jake gave him a _look._ "I can always turn on a Western, if you'd rather—" He started reaching for the remote.

"Oh, God, no. I'll take the musical for 500, Alex."

Smirking victoriously, Jake bodily shifted him aside and sat down, confiscating the plate before Ezekiel could even think about maybe stealing a bite from the other sandwich. "You'll like it, Jonesy. It's funny, and there's aliens in it," he reassured.

Aliens? Well. Okay, then. Grumbling a little more just on principle, Ezekiel resettled himself on the sofa; an unfamiliar but not at all unpleasant feeling of warmth welled up in his chest when Jake slung his free arm over his shoulders and tugged him closer against his side. And when he let his head rest against Jake's chest, the cowboy only smiled a little and didn't shake him off.

He was really nailing this 'date night' thing.

* * *

Okay, so it wasn't that bad of a film, and it _was_ funny, musical aside. Unfortunately, though, he did end up with "Mean Green Mother From Outer Space" in his head for the next two days, so thanks very much, Jake. And that bit about the dentist was exactly why he had a fear of them and had religiously brushed and flossed since he was ten.

And as promised, when he quietly scarpered on paperwork to go to Jake's flat the following week, the cowboy had fixed him a good, proper meal of chicken parmesan served with noodles.

To be served, of course, after the appetizer: half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Just for that, Ezekiel decided he _would_ get Jake that string of pearls for Christmas.


End file.
